Shower Time
by sa-mu-uu
Summary: A particularly salty Law becomes an accidental voyeur of sorts. ZoSan PWP


This little oneshot was an exercise in writing from Law's point of view, which I've never done before… But I'm planning on writing something KidLaw-ish soon, so this was sort of like practice to figure out a voice that suits him. To that end, I would appreciate it a lot if you could let me know in the reviews what you think of him!

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There were only a handful of things that Trafalgar Law absolutely could not stand; dealing with hat hair, eating bread, being unable to sleep, and missing showers being most all of them. He was very careful to avoid being stuck in such situations, but sometimes it was just inescapable.

After days at sea, the salt and grime from the ocean air had done unmentionable horrors to his skin and hair. The feeling of filth all over was annoying as hell, but served as a compelling reminder that his submarine had been an excellent choice in ship design; he'd never missed its stuffiness so much before in his life. Lucky for him, however, this particular ship's captain had been almost a little too delighted to offer up their bath to him in order to fix the issue.

But as he stood outside the bathing room on the Thousand Sunny, it seemed unlikely that he would get the chance to use it anytime soon. Although the room was allegedly meant to be communal, it was indisputably "occupied" at that moment.

His first clue was in the clothing basket near the door; an unkempt pile of mostly black and green. At first he'd thought they were only the swordsman's, but upon further inspection he realized that some of the fabric was far too nice to be his.

The second clue, more interestingly, was the aforementioned door being locked. It was an obstacle that he could have easily gotten around, either by the use of his special ability or sheer force alone; it was only wood, after all. However, locked doors usually meant something, didn't they?

His third and decidedly biggest hint came in the form of sound; more specifically, a sultry moan that echoed inside, followed by another of a slightly deeper inflection. They were the sort that brought an immediate blush to his face; uninhibited and loud as hell, even with the solid wall of separation between himself and the next room over. Whatever the fuck it was they were doing in there, it was obviously _intensely_ sexual in nature.

By reflex more than anything else, his eyes shifted to the circular window on the door. But it was too fogged up to see anything, which was probably for the best. He wasn't exactly in the mood to appreciate the view he would have gotten, anyway. Steam slipped out in a billowing stream from the crack under the door; at least it was clear they were making use of the hot water they were hogging. But even so, wasn't that heat a tad extreme?

"Wh-what the hell is wrong with you today, shitty marimo?!"

Law perked up a bit at this, his attention recaptured by the slight slip up in the man's articulation. Stuttering... Now that was something he certainly hadn't heard from the chef before. Interesting.

"What's wrong with me?" The swordsman started, and there was the squeaking slide of wet flesh against porcelain as the other man gasped. "You're what's wrong with me. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on anything when you're flaunting your ass around all day long? Those tight pants of yours must be the real reason why your bounty is so damn high. They should be illegal."

"Oh, you fucking wish," he spat back, and there was the sound of water splashing violently followed by a wet sputter. "Or are you trying to insinuate that my body is more criminal than I am?"

A slosh of bath water overflowing in a single wave onto the floor did nothing to drown out the snarl that followed. "I'm saying it's a damn menace to society, and should be punished accordingly."

The questionably provocative exchange gave way to vicious growls, as if words were, for a moment, not enough to express whatever asinine shit they were trying to convey. The cook let out a startled cry as something, some object Law couldn't identify by sound alone, clattered to the stone flooring with hollow echo. For a moment, he just stared at the door, trying to figure out which one of them was emitting the lion-like roar that abruptly strained his ears, before something slammed into the adjacent wall. The clawing, scraping sort of noise against wood afterward clued him in that the impact must have been made by hands; perhaps for balancing purposes. Although, whose hands they were remained a mystery he wasn't sure he wanted solved.

"Y-you know, maybe if that moss brain of yours weren't fried beyond repair from-mmmhghh, ph-photosynthesizing all damn day, you'd be able to focus on more than one thing at once!"

"That's the best you can come up with?" The swordsman scoffed over a heavy breath. "Your body isn't the only part of you that's been getting weak, lately; your insults are suffering, too."

"Weak?!" The parroting came out in a near-shriek, and Law's fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears to block it out. "I'll show you fucking weak, shithead!"

There was another violent splash, and duet of steamy growls followed by a husky, "Mm, that's better."

His lips pulled into a thin, puzzled line. Even in the midst of fucking each other's brains out, they still antagonized each other? He couldn't say he was all that surprised, necessarily. But there was a different sort of undertone to their banter that he couldn't quite place; not that he even cared enough to in the first place, he reminded himself, as he folded his arms over his chest in a curt gesture to nobody in particular.

He slumped down onto the wooden floor with an inaudible sigh, crossing his legs and leaning against the wall, briefly debating whether or not to just leave and try again in the morning. His itchy skin would likely keep him up all night, but what was a few more irritated hours in the grand scheme of things? However, there was no real guarantee that he wouldn't just encounter the same problem again then, was there? So, rather than taking the chance, he opted to wait it out instead. It wasn't as if he had anything better to be doing, anyway. And he'd already overheard so much that hearing more wouldn't really make much of a difference, all things considered.

If he had to guess (which, really, he didn't), he'd have said that the two of them had probably been going at it for quite a long time already. Their breathing, from what he could make out, was ragged and horribly erratic. If their performance in combat were any indication of the physical feats they were capable of undertaking, they must have been under some monstrous strain to sound so out of breath. _Well, good,_ he mused, shooting a scowl at the smooth, wooden floor underneath him. If those two were in pain the following morning, that's just what they deserved for monopolizing the bath like a pair of horny, greed-ridden idiots. Even if it was technically the middle of the night, and most everyone was asleep anyway.

"H-hold on-... just a goddamn minute, bastard, you're gonna-" The cook's objection was interrupted by a thunderous splash, one so loud that Law's eyes widened in bewilderment. Did they break a hole in the side of the ship? No, they were above sea level; that wouldn't make sense. Maybe they'd managed to dump all of the bath water onto the floor at once somehow. It sounded like they'd conjured a waterfall indoors; or perhaps, he realized after a moment, _like they had fallen over_. A sudden sputtering cough and sharp gasp for air a moment later confirmed his suspicion, and he smirked at the image of the blond's undoubtedly dumbfounded face at being cut off in such a manner.

"Zoro, what the hell?!" He snapped, and Law could make out the cringe-worthy, smacking impact of a slippery kick meeting wet flesh. "You want me to break your neck or something, is that it?!"

"Agh, stop that! It was just an accident; shut up and get back over here, would you?"

There was a long, seething pause before the other man let out an aggravated sigh, and a smooth, oscillating swish of water indicated more shifting movement. "Tch... Clumsy caveman. Fine, forget it. Just listen to me next time, damn it."

The swordsman retorted with an irritated huff, and he could hear the telltale signs of them settling back into the motions. There were a few moments of heavy silence, a stark contrast to the last few minutes, before he finally spoke up. "Ngh-... I'm not gonna last much longer, shit cook."

"Fuck, neither am I... It's so damn hot in here…"

"Hn. It's hot in you, too." Well, that answered that question. Law let the information process and promptly discarded it.

"Don't _—haaah—_ s-say shit like that, you stupid-... shitty moss..."

Law expected another retort, but one never came. Their heavy breaths continued in a steady rhythm, giving him a wholly unnecessary hint toward the speed at which they were moving then; slow, but deep, it seemed. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the water move with them. For once in his short co-habitation with them, he begrudgingly wished they would start yelling at each other again. But, no, apparently this was the part where they got sappy, likely to be gazing into each other's eyes or making out or something. Probably both.

Thankfully, the eye of the storm didn't last long; it didn't take his medical expertise to recognize that the cook was, in fact, rapidly approaching orgasm. A gasp and a long stream of his thick, passionate curses spilled from the doorway, echoing off of the walls inside in such a way that made it sound almost melodic. Law had heard plenty of men scream during his time doubling as a surgeon, but never quite like that; in a brief bout of empathy, he made a mental note to consider offering the man some of his leftover anesthetic later.

"Shit, Zoro, it's too good!" He sounded breathless, on the brink of tears, though Law highly doubted the man's body was actually responding in such a way. His voice was just that level of expressive; way over the top, in his opinion. Not grating or anything, but very… colorful, he supposed was the right word. "I-... You're so- Oh, _fuck_ , right there! Bloody fucking hell, yes!"

"I'm almost there, curly-brows... Where do you want it?"

"Inside… do it inside. I _—ahhn—_ wanna feel it," he moaned, and Law raised an eyebrow. That response was pretty damn kinky, even for a pervert like him. _Well, whatever,_ he rolled his eyes, idly redirecting his gaze to the ceiling. At least if the swordsman blew his load in the other's ass like that, there would be one less mess for Law to worry about accidentally finding when it was his turn to use the room. And if that were the case, he was all for it.

"D-Damn it, cook," the words came out as a borderline feral growl, and Law could almost imagine the look of strain on his face. "I _—_ _nngh_ _—_ love you..."

Love? So the swordsman actually knew something of romance, after all. It was almost heartwarming… Almost. Maybe he would have been more impressed under less dirty, irritating circumstances. But in that moment, the word just made him scoff.

The chef, on the other hand, apparently didn't share in Law's sentiments in the slightest. Voluptuous curses were stifled, and the swordsman's name—which honestly could have been the same as a curse to him, who really knew?—took their place, as if that mushy phrase the other man uttered had erased his ability to say anything else. Either that, or he was actually getting fucked that good. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

The throaty scream that erupted next was thoroughly muffled the moment it had begun, still audible from his spot outside but leagues quieter than it likely would have been without, he assumed, the muscled hand clamped so tightly over his mouth. They had a fair bit of practice, he gathered. Too bad that didn't seem to impact their time efficiency.

In the time it took him to register what was happening, their wild, thundering ecstasy quieted to exhausted moans and whispers that he couldn't quite hear. How quickly they switched gears, like a hurricane tearing through and disappearing in the blink of an eye. He wasn't going to criticize, though; not when he'd been waiting around for so long with no wish other than for them to finish in the first place.

It was still another ten gruelling minutes before they finished actually cleansing themselves and made their way out. Law peered up from his spot on the floor when the doorknob rattled, unable to keep the smirk from his face when the door finally cracked open; he didn't go unnoticed even for a second. The two men, clad only in dampened, white towels, froze partway through the doorway, eyeballing him with identically wide stares that silently asked but one question; _fucking hell, how much of that did you hear?_

Sparing them the embarrassment, or perhaps leaving them to wonder in agonizing frustration, he simply stood and brushed himself off before slinking past the thin space in the doorway. "If you two are in need of muscle therapy in the morning, I'm sure this ship's sick bay has something to help ease the strain," he hummed, not giving them a chance to respond before slamming the door shut behind him.

There were only a handful of things that Trafalgar Law absolutely could not stand; and as he stood in the bathing room all by himself, listening to the heated argument fading down the hallway, he realized that having blackmail material was not one of them.

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Damn, writing smut without any visual or sensual aspects is hard lol.

Thanks for reading!


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